Red Dahlia
by anee-d
Summary: She was a 'noble' but of common birth, picked up from the dirt and poverty stricken streets of Versaiile as an infant and oathed her life away to a movement that will strip the so-called privileged aristocrats of everything and turn Versaiille into a blood bath. He was a 'blueblood' , a true aristocrat, distant and unseduced by the splendor accompanying the world of 'nobility'.


Red Dahlia

Prologue

_May 11 1758, Versaille_

She was conflicted as she stared into her ornate ormolu vanity mirror.

The poised, alluring vision she made in her expensive garb tailored in the heights of latest fashion- the rich material clinging softly to the generous curves of her petite form, luxurious pink tendrils of her hair perfectly tangled into thick braids, deftly pulled towards the right into a small knot near the nape of her neck, and duly powdered, before allowing the volume of hair beneath to gently cascade down her back in springy, impeccable curls- was silently at odds with the storm lurking in the depths of her clear green orbs and the turmoil churning uncomfortably within her breasts.

She had her beloved wrinkly old maid Chiyo to thank, for the painstaking loveliness reflected in her mirror.

The gold-trimmed poufy skirts spreading out from her slim waist and the firmly corseted material stretched tightly around her chest, was streamlined to fit her to a perfection; the fabric the same vibrantly hued viridian as her eyes. Creamy white lace and delicate frills bunched up prettily, several inches below her collar bone, peeking coyly above the v-neckline of her corset and silk chemise, a breath above the swell of her small breasts, and through the edges of her elbow-length chiffon sleeves, each properly threaded at the back and the ends with fine gold strands.

She carefully pinned the fresh, exotic Red Dahlia she'd picked from the wild, untamed areas of the town where she was birthed and liked to often visit over the knot behind her ears, -which were adorned with bright winking gems the same shade as her dress,- a personal touch she always liked to add ever since she'd been told the truth of her common birth and determinedly sought the place she'd been abandoned and found bawling her baby heart out.

She ached silently for what she was to leave behind; not for the luxury that was bequeathed upon her since she was taken into the titled, aristocratic household of the Haruno's, - though there had been a time when she been dazzled and spoilt by all the splendor herself, until _he _disabused her of her naïve and self-absorbed brattish notions, abruptly pulling her away from a life of frivolity - but for the warmth and abundant love she'd been showered by Mother and Father, the present Lord Kizashi Haruno and Lady Mibuki Haruno.

Forgive me, Papa, but your Princess has grown up. She can't remain your spoilt, sheltered little doll anymore. She will step out into the world to protect her people and her common heritage from the bad government that was unrepentantly oppressing them.

It was simply heartbreaking that her Papa had to be one of the bad men she had to stab in the back.

She had to operate in great secrecy.

She did not know for how long she could protect this household. They were safe now because _she_, one of common birth, resided in this mansion.

She lived a double life.

As a member of the privileged aristocracy she was invited to every lavish ball in the general vicinity, which she dutifully attended in all her finery, merrily partaking of the loud and pretentious entertainment, flashing fake coquettish smiles at whoever desired them, while she covertly fished for any scraps of information relevant to the secret movement she had oath-ed her life to.

...A movement that every peasant and well-wisher of the common folk of Versailli was party to, a movement that was soon to erupt into a bloody revolution. She could smell the fear off of the 'nobility' as they deemed themselves, at every ball she attended, and the fear kept escalating as some noble quietly dropped dead in the safety of his own home.

...Because of her.

She made coded lists - a hit list and detailed maps of aristocratic mansions whose festive gatherings she scouted and skillfully danced at, stealthily leading them to their deaths.

She had blood on her hands now. There was no turning back.

The list contained the names of every living aristocrat in Versailli, including her beloved Father and darling Mother. She had placed them at the end of the list only before _him. _

She had been careful to begin listing people she didn't know and her beautiful calligraphy had faltered and blurred with her tears asthe names began to feel more familiar.

She had debated against putting them on the list at all, but she could not do it. It wouldn't be fair.

...If only they were willing to give up their lazy, expensive lifestyle, and stopped using government revenue to fund their frivolous pursuits, swaggering around in lavish clothing, while turning a blind eye to the cries of hunger and poverty on the same streets they blundered through in extravagantly furnished carriages.

She could not in good conscience leave them out. They were good people, but oh, so seduced by the splendor that should belong to everybody.

They were good people, but only good to those they considered 'noble'.

She had been the only exception – _andshewassosogratefulbut_ – but only because her mother had been lonely after her first miscarriage and had looked upon finding her as divine Providence – _itsaddenedhertothink ofwhatthatdivineprovidencewa spreparedtodo- _and the rest had no idiea she was no noble.

There was nothing she could do for them until they stopped clinging to extravagance and believing they were superior and more entitled to the pleasures of the world than the rest of humanity.

_He _was different though.

A ghost of a tender smile curled her lips upward, her heart aching all the more as she thought of him

_H_e shouldn't be on this list.

_He _was not in the least frivolous and could not bear to spend money on useless pursuits.

_He_ did not believe in his own superiority –_exceptinthematterofintellect _ - or in the concept of the privileged.

He was fair. Decidedly impartial in his dealings with the aristocrat, people like him, and the commoners.

_He _had neither time nor patience for her flirtations and seemed to her to be impartial to the inviting smiles, and the _brightbright_ eyes that the rest of the town was partial to.

_He_ barely attended gatherings unless they were of a scholarly nature or they contributed to his investigations regarding the corruption of government officials under his company, and the brutal murder of his household at the hands of the older brother he'd adored and respected.

And therein lay the problem.

He was a 'noble' from a line of aristocrats that was the oldest , the most powerful and the most hated bloodlines, the bloodline that had been in charge of the Crown's treasury for generations; the bloodline that started the drivel of superiority and inferiority, drawing the line between nobility and the common in Versaille.

His father was Uchiha Fugaku, the latest in the long line of tyrants and the reason the government was going to the dogs.

The commoners did not care for the details of whys and becauses.

The Uchiha at one point controlled where the government revenue went. It did not matter that they no longer did and that it was now haphazardly distributed among the undeserving nobles or that the only living member of the Uchiha was trying his damnest to figure out a way to repair the situation and weed out the center of corruption in the officials under his care and cared not a farthing for the superiority-inferiority garbage spewed by the rest of his privileged kind.

It was most curious and tragic that Uchiha Itachi, an exceptionally talented man, turned cold all of a sudden and mercilessly stabbed the members of the entire Uchiha household for reasons no one was privy to, and calculatedly left seven year old Sasuke, the youngest of the Uchiha sons, to pick up the broken pieces of the bloody mess that was the Uchiha Household.

Sasuke was doomed because he was an Uchiha.

That was the legacy he had inherited, the legacy that he was fighting tooth and nail against in bitter quiet.

Since that day he was on a journey of his own.

...As was she now.

She had not known then, these details, and had behaved thoughtlessly. And he had told her off with such disdain in his _darkdark_ eyes that she had been shamed into reflecting and amending her behavior. She was grateful to him for the injection of reality even if he would not be able to tell that she had changed...that he had changed her.

She fervently prayed that before the time came for the names on the end of the list to be assassinated, that they would somehow find themselves walking on the same path.

She only hoped that when the time came, he did not hate her more than he already seemed to do for the frivolous lifestyle she was only faking her enjoyment of.

But of course, he could not know that. And she would not tell him.

Someday, she hoped that her parents would understand and know that she loved them despite having signed their death sentence.

She picked up her decorative fan emblazened with the Haruno emblem, lying forlonly on the dressing table, and sharply turned away from the lovely vision in the mirror, walking steadily out of her room, and out of the lovely mansion, fluidly stepping into the equally lovely carriage, making her way to yet another lovely party in aching solitude, to secretly plan the downfall of yet another lovely aristocratic household.


End file.
